Three years ago, on this very day, I was gutted like a fish so that my master could be born. My life has been under seige ever since, but mostly (MOSTLY) that’s an OK thing. I just view all the bruises as accessories, and the chest pains are getting easier to ignore.
Happy birthday, Chooch! Here’s to many more years of a perpetually dirt-bearded face! (Except not.) I hope you can like today.